


Lessons

by DarthAstris



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bullying, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Humiliation, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rape, Returns-verse, Self-Hatred, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, canon-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAstris/pseuds/DarthAstris
Summary: Armitage Hux learns in his first year at the academy on the ISD Stormhawk that the students aren't the only bullies.  They're not even the worst.(I'm going to warn you right now that this contains graphic rape.  If you're not up for that, the second chapter will be the one to avoid if you wish.  Otherwise, welcome to my trash headcanons for poor Hux's childhood.)Chapters in Lessons won't be updating regularly, but I'll try to get one up a month at least. This one's a bit harder to get through than others, since it touches on some rather personal things.  Feel free to follow me or check my Twitter for notices on updates, or just to have a chat! :D  @DarthAstris





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>   
>  The likelihood of Hux making it through a military academy without being abused, given who he is and how little his father seems to care for him (and Brendol's insistence on a "survival of the fittest" and "sink or swim" attitude towards children and weakness in general) is quite slim, in my opinion. (Also given the frightening prevalence of sexual assault in both the military and military schools and academies in the real world, particularly toward LGBT people.) I don't think Brendol himself would stoop to sexual abuse, but I do think he'd just see it as another test for his son -- will he be a "snitch" and report it? Will he just shut up and take it? Will he fight back?
> 
> I think Hux's childhood and youth were extremely torturous, miserable parts of his life that most definitely shaped the bitter, closed-off person he became, and that all the physical, mental, and sexual abuses he suffered were instrumental in breaking him down for the brainwashing he most likely also received.  
>   
>   
> 

“—so, in theory, running a second, concurrent channel through a hyperspace relay will mask the transmission.  Cadet Hux, are you paying attention?”

Hux blinked, his gaze coming into focus on Major Kindan scowling at him from the front of the classroom.  He must have been staring again.  Zoning out.  He’d been so exhausted lately.

“Yes, sir.  Sorry, sir.” Hux closed his eyes and repeated back everything his instructor had said in the last minute.  Word for word.

“Are you trying to get smart with me, cadet?”

Hux shook his head, bewildered. “No, sir. N-not at all. I—”

“After class, cadet.”

Behind him, snickering.

He felt his face go hot.  “Y-yes, sir.”

Kindan went on for a few more minutes, but now Hux’s embarrassment kept him from being able to remember a word that was said.   He kept his head down and eyes on his datapad as the chime rang and his classmates cleared out, a few of them passing by his desk to drop snide comments. Their nastiness stung, but like hell he was going to let it show.

“Good luck, Armie…”

“You’re gonna get it now, _General_ …”

It was his first semester at the prestigious Imperial Military Academy aboard the _ISD Stormhawk_ , and already he’d been in trouble more times than he could count.  Though most (if not all of it) wasn’t his fault, he’d been so conditioned from childhood to assume blame for the tiniest of infractions that he never questioned it.  He was worthless.  He was weak.  He was stupid.  And he proved it every single day.  The first of which had been announcing, on his first day at the Academy, that he was going to become the youngest general the Grand Army of the First Order would ever see.  No one had let him live that down.

Soon, he was alone in the room and stood at attention as Major Kindan clicked off the HoloDisplay and turned to face him.  “Your father warned me about you.  That you’d be lazy and devious, but I hadn’t expected outright disrespect.”

Armitage had never been good at picking up on social cues, and feared he’d dropped the ball again.  He hadn’t meant it to come off that way.  He’d thought Major Kindan was genuinely concerned that he hadn’t heard the lecture and he wanted him to know that he’d been listening.  That he was being good and doing his duty.  His flush deepened.  Hux could feel his ears burning.  “Sir, I didn’t mean—”

“Silence!” Kindan snapped with a ferocity Hux hadn’t expected from the soft-spoken, older gentleman.  Hux’s posture stiffened automatically at the barked command.  “The first thing you’d better learn is when to shut your mouth.”  Behind his back, his hands trembled, and he clutched them tighter.  “That innocent act isn’t going to fly here.  I’ve seen it all.  You think you know better than your elders.  You want to show off.  You think you’re special.  Well, you know exactly two spoonfuls of _kark_ , boy, and I’ll not tolerate that kind of disrespect in my classroom.  I’ve half a mind to give you a demerit for that,” he paused and narrowed his eyes at Hux’s slight gasp, “but I think I have something a little more _persuasive_ in mind.”  Kindan let the threat hang for a moment, savoring the boy’s confusion.  It hadn’t yet turned to fear, but it was there, creeping around the edges, ready to spring.  His lip curled into a smirk.  “Take it off.”

“S-sir?” The room seemed to spin and a sudden weight pressed down on his chest, making it hard to catch his breath.  That was what his father said when—

“The jacket.  And your shirt.  Take it off.  Don’t make me tell you again.”

 _So, I’m going to be whipped, then_.  Hux’s hands shook as they came forward to undo the clasp at his neck and made their way down the front of his tunic, tiny clinks of metal sounding in the otherwise silent room.  He could hear the rush of his heartbeat in his ears and tried not to think about the imminent pain.  The room felt much colder, but it had little to do with being shirtless.  Carefully folding his uniform and the undershirt, he set them aside on his desk and resumed his stance.

Kindan motioned for him to come to the front of the room and he obeyed, grateful for the bit of movement to mask the quiver of fear that ran through his spine.  The officer circled around him as if appraising him, and when he came back around to stand in front of Hux he had a peculiar smile.  There was a predatory gleam in his eyes and a tilt to his lips, a quickening of breath that Hux had seen before, but never from an adult.   Those boys – Mazan and Vratik and Carr-Oben and Hantell – the ones who raped him, they had that look about them every time.  Hux spared a glance down at Kindan’s hands.  He wasn’t holding a whip.  They were empty.  But he also noticed the large bulge at the front of his trousers and took in a sharp breath.

Hux met Kindan’s gaze again, his brow pinched in terror.  The instructor’s grin widened at Hux’s understanding. 

He wasn’t going to be whipped.


	2. Chapter 2

“The pants, too.  All of it.”

For all he knew that it was coming, Hux could not make his hands do his bidding.  The fasteners were suddenly overly complex and his fingers far too clumsy to operate them.  He drew a deep, tremulous breath and held it, trying to steady himself.

“Come on.  We haven’t got all day.”

A whine was building in his throat but he swallowed it down and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his trousers slide down to his boots, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulled those down, too.  Despite the chill, his shame burned hot.  He covered himself and hunched his shoulders, feeling so small and vulnerable and wanting someplace to hide.

 _This can’t be happening_.

“Look at you.  So thin.  Are you eating properly?”

Hux wasn’t sure Kindan was actually looking for a response, but he stammered out a “yessir” just in case he got himself into further trouble by not answering.  The longer the man stood there, leering, the harder it became to control the shivers that wracked his body.

“Are you afraid, boy?”

He could hear the rustle of fabric as Kindan freed his erection from his pants, but he didn’t look up, keeping his gaze focused on the patterns in the deck plates. 

 _This can’t be happening_. 

Fear pitched his voice higher than he would have liked as he sniffled and tried to fight back tears, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.  You should be.”

A calloused hand gripped him by the throat and flung him toward the HoloDesk.  Hux yelped as he stumbled and crashed into it, but he hardly had time to catch his breath before the teacher’s weight pressed down on him from behind.  “Quiet!” Kindan’s breath hissed hot against his ear.  “Be good and this will all be over soon.”  Hux could feel him fumbling around behind him, fingers forcing apart his clenched cheeks, the warm firmness of his cock searching out his defenseless hole, and then he was in.  He couldn’t keep from crying out at the invasion, instinct taking over as he frantically scrabbled at the desk to get away.  

Kindan clamped a hand over Hux’s mouth to muffle his screams as he yanked him back, pushing farther in.  Hux tried to be quiet, tried to force himself to be still like with the other boys.  It didn’t make it hurt any less, but it might prevent a beating in addition to the assault.  He tore open, stretched around Kindan’s cock (which was much larger than even the older boys’), and he could feel blood trickling down his thighs.  He hadn’t even started moving in and out and already the pain was unbearable.

Hux gripped the edge of the table but stopped trying to pull away.  It was still warm from the energy that had been coursing through it just minutes ago.  A distant part of him thought it was a strange thing to notice, given the circumstances, but he also realized that if he focused on the memory of the diagrams and schematics they’d been looking at earlier, it helped to take his mind off of the pain.

“Giving up already? You really are as pathetic as he said.”

His only response was a small whimper as Kindan shoved himself the rest of the way in.  For a long while he stayed there, unmoving, just panting hard and heavy against Hux’s neck, with Hux pinned to the table, squirming under his weight, struggling to breathe.  He hoped against all hope that it might be over.   Hux didn’t dare give voice to the litany of pleas that crashed around in his mind.  He wanted to beg and cry and scream, but he knew from long experience that would only make things worse.

Losing his grip on the edge of the table as Kindan dragged him back to start fucking into him, Hux gasped and balled his fists tightly, digging his nails into his palms and letting the fresh pain distract him from the agony and shame of what was happening.  Even with that savage hardness inside of him, he still couldn’t believe it.

“I’ve seen you limping out of empty classrooms before, boy,” Kindan grunted, continuing to elicit pitiful mewls from Hux as he thrust into him. “Don’t tell me you’re not used to this.”

Hux ground his teeth together and refused to answer.  How could he be expected to get used to _this_? And yet, Kindan was right.  In a way, he was.  There had never been a person in his life who hadn’t wanted to hurt him in some way.  Not since he was five.  Maybe Sloane, but she'd been too busy to notice what was going on after they'd joined the rest of the fleet. Before that, he’d at least had his mother.  The sudden memory of her comforting embrace brought new tears streaming down his pale cheeks.  But she didn’t want him either; that’s what father said.  And why would she? He was just this useless, worthless thing, and if he weren’t so weak and foolish, this wouldn’t be happening to him.  Even now he couldn’t stop crying and wanting to scream for his mother.  Just more proof that he deserved it.

Kindan finished with a low growl, pumping into him a final time before pulling out and stepping back.  He slapped Hux’s ass and wiped his dick off on the reddening hand-print.  “Clean this mess up and get out.  I have a class in ten minutes.”

 _Class! I’m going to be late!_ The thought of more punishment to follow if he were marked tardy and given demerits was enough to motivate him to get moving.  His hands left thin smears of blood on the HoloProjector as Hux pushed himself off the table and sank to the floor, clutching his stomach and trying to catch his breath through thick sobs.  It hadn’t hurt this badly before, and there was so much blood pooled under him.  He wanted to just lie on the cold alusteel floor and never move again.

A ratty towel hit him in the face and he felt the tip of Kindan’s boot digging into his hip.  “I said, get up.”

“Y-y-yes, s-sir,” he managed, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands and turning around slowly to mop up the cum and bloodstains.  Kindan’s boots clicked off toward his office, but Hux didn’t look up to see him go.  He finished cleaning, his breath hitching as he fought back a swell of nausea, and forced himself to stand on quaking legs, remembering to wipe his blood off the table as well.  He was still bleeding and dripping Kindan’s semen so he wiped off his thighs and suppressed another cry as he dabbed gingerly at his inflamed entrance.  Looking around for something else to clean himself with, he found nothing.  Hux folded the towel and stuffed it into his underwear before pulling them back up.  He hoped no one would notice, but it was either that or bleed through, and then _everyone_ would know _and_ he would be punished for breaking the uniform code as well.

Using the other desks for support, he stumbled back to his own desk to get his shirt and jacket, hastily re-dressing and gathering up his datapad and shoulder bag.  He didn’t have time to get to a refresher, so he wiped his hands on the underside of his tunic skirt to stop the bleeding.  Hux looked back one final time over the scene of his assault to make sure he hadn’t left behind any evidence of Kindan’s brutality and shuffled out into the too-bright corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

Hux stepped into the classroom right as the chime sounded.  He’d made it just in time, but then he had to walk to his seat near the front of the class, dead center, as everyone else was already standing at attention with their datapads on their desks, screens displaying the day’s text.  He scurried forward, propelled by a sense of dread, and set his datapad down before sliding his bag under his seat.  The stares of his classmates felt like an unseen weight on his back.  Straightening up to stand at attention pained him, but he kept his face unreadable. He’d had years of practice suppressing his feelings.  He couldn’t relax the tension from around his puffy eyes, or hide the fact that he’d been crying, though.

“<Cadet Hux, you are late.>” Commander Ralas declared, glowing red eyes observing Hux.

It took Hux a moment to understand what had been said, not because his instructor was speaking in Cheunh, but because Hux had never given cause to hear that phrase directed at him before.  His voice unavoidably hoarse, he replied, “<Yes, sir.  I apologize.>”

Again, stifled laughter from behind.

Hux didn’t break eye contact to see who it was.  It didn’t matter.  Everyone wanted to see him get into trouble.

The stoic Chiss regarded him for a moment, seeming to register Hux’s distress.  “<See that it does not happen again.>”

Hux let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding in.  The snickering behind him stopped in a confusion equal to his own.  “<Y-Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.>”

Ralas stepped to his desk, telling the class to be seated and begin reading through the pronunciation warm-ups on page 52.  Hux eased into his chair, the pain lancing through him the only indication of what had just happened.  He still couldn’t believe it.  He felt his thoughts scattering again, his datapad seeming distant and surreal the longer he stared at it.  Several minutes passed before he realized he hadn’t even turned it on yet.

His insides were throbbing, and he swallowed down another wave of nausea as he reached out to turn on the screen and scroll to the correct page.  He could feel eyes on him, but he didn’t look up.  If it were Commander Ralas watching him, he might assume Hux was taking advantage of his generosity by slacking off after having been pardoned.  Tardiness, at the very least, usually resulted in a dressing-down by one’s superior; at worst, two demerits.  Hux couldn’t imagine why Ralas had let it slide; Chiss generally did everything by the book.  Hux resolved to focus and work extra hard to make up for it.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk to anyone, but Commander Ralas had them pair off in order to practice the day’s lessons.  Hux shuffled over to team up with Cadet Ensella, a girl a few rows across from him, and read through the conversation as if on auto-pilot.  He tried as hard as he could to sound out the words on the screen, but his attention kept drifting to the pain in his abdomen, causing his pronunciation to suffer.  Cheunh was difficult on the best of days, and today was certainly not one of those.

“<Sir,>” Ensella raised her hand midway through and glared at Hux, “<I can’t get through the exercise if Cadet Hux can’t concentrate.  I can’t understand anything he’s trying to say.>”

Hux sneered back at her, but more out of agony and fear than any malice toward her in particular.  He _had_ fracked up.  It was _his_ fault, as usual, not hers.

“<Cadet Hux,>” Ralas approached the pair, lowering his voice so that the others couldn’t eavesdrop over the sound of their own conversations, “<Are you unwell? Perhaps you should visit the infirmary.>”

Panic laced his veins with adrenaline.  A trip to the medbay meant his father would find out what had happened to him. “<N-no. No, sir. I’m ok.>”

Ensella huffed and rolled her eyes.

Ralas frowned. “<Your body heat; it is not normal. Go to the infirmary. That is an order.>”

Someone snickered from behind. “<Looks like it’s Hux’s time of the month.>”

Everyone erupted in laughter before being silenced by Ralas’ harsh command.

 _What?_ “<I… I…>” Hux’s hand went to his mouth to stop a sudden bout of nausea. _The blood! It must have seeped through!_ “<Sir, may I please be excused?>”

“<Dismissed, Cadet.>”

Hux bolted from the room, down the corridor, and burst into the nearest refresher, his guts turning out his lunch and breakfast.  Gagging and gasping, he reached behind him to feel the seat of his pants.  His hand came away with a crimson smear.  A sob escaped him before he could choke it back; he had to keep it together, had to clean himself up before a senior officer noticed and wrote him up, or worse, told his father.

 _Father_ …

He couldn’t make it back to the dorms without being seen, there were too many classrooms between here and there. But, if he went to the turbolift at the end of this corridor, he could make it back “home” to his father’s quarters. Brendol shouldn’t return for several hours yet. Hux could find an old change of clothes, get a shower and maybe even a quick nap -- he wanted to lie down so badly -- and return to his dorm room before anyone noticed anything amiss.  

Coughing up the last remnants of his meal into the toilet, Hux wiped the tears from his cheeks and spat a few times to clear the awful taste of bile from his mouth.  His guts still hurt –- more now than before -– but he managed to straighten up and lurch out into the hallway, looking around to make sure the path was clear before scurrying over to the turbolift and punching in his authorization to go up to the senior officers’ level.

Hux stood at the back of the turbolift, in case anyone else got in.  Two officers appeared a few floors up, their spotless uniforms shimmering under the low light.  A jolt of terror made his trembling worse, but they knew who he was and didn’t challenge his right to be there.  Hux saluted and they returned the gesture.  His pent up breath exploded in a sigh as the two departed, leaving him alone again until he reached the proper level.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss to reveal a mostly empty corridor.  Hux walked as quickly and with as much purpose as he could, hoping that no one would stop him.  Two more officers passed after he paused to render a brisk salute.  Fear quickened his pace as one mumbled to the other, “School’s out already? Man, back in my day we were there ‘til night watch, at least…”

Hux ducked around the nearest corner, lest they decided to call him on his truancy, and took a more roundabout path to his father’s quarters.  Finally home,  he looked around once more to see that no one was watching and pressed his ear to the door.  Only silence greeted him.

He entered his father’s code and slipped inside.


	4. Chapter 4

The door slid open to reveal an empty room.  Armitage let out another sigh of relief and made his way to his bedroom, hoping his luck would continue to hold out.  There were still about 45 minutes left in the last class of the day, and the commandant usually kept office hours until at least 19:00.

Straightaway, he headed to the refresher, searching through the medicine cabinet for a jar of Bacta gel and some painkiller.  He didn't find any of the latter in his own room, and he hadn't really expected to. His father didn't believe in painkiller.  The only acceptable way to deal with pain was to bear it in silence and toughen up.  For a moment, he considered that there might be some in his father's room, but he couldn't scrounge up the courage to go into that foreboding place.

Removing his boots and socks, he set them aside before taking off his pants and underwear and running cold water over them in the sink.  He pushed down on the stopper to fill the basin and let them soak.  The blood stain had become quite substantial.  It billowed under the water like a pink stormcloud.  

Bright crimson had soaked the towel through.  Residual cum had stuck the edges of the fold together, and peeling it apart to find a cleaner area made him feel sick again.

A thin trickle of blood dripped down his thigh.  He wiped it away and let out a small whimper, afraid that he would never stop bleeding, or that he might have been hurt so badly he would have to report to the medbay after all.  There was only one thing that might help.  Grimacing, he dipped a finger into the gelatinous Bacta paste and tried to push as much of it up inside himself as he could.  Armitage bit his lip and tried to suppress his tears, but the fear and the pain proved too much for him.  He cried out in despair when he saw how bloody his finger was, worried that he couldn't get it in far enough to cover wherever he'd been injured but not wanting to do it again.

_Come on.  You have to do it.  It's that or go to the infirmary and then everyone will know.  Father will find out, and then it will be even worse.  And, what if Sloane finds out? You want her to know that you just let this happen?_

He looked around for something longer he could use to get the Bacta farther inside him, but there was nothing that seemed like it wouldn't be more painful or dangerous.  After a few shuddering gulps of air, he put one foot up on the side of the bathtub for a better angle and tried again.  It felt like he could reach a little better, but the sensation of tearing himself open again made him whimper and mewl like an injured animal.

Having done all he could, he shut off the water to the sink, disrobed, and curled up on the floor of the shower, letting the blast of hot water scald him.  With the harsh spray concealing the sounds of his sobs, he finally allowed himself to cry.  He scrubbed at his sallow skin until it was pink and raw, still feeling filthy and repulsive.  When it was too tender to touch anymore, Armitage shut off the water and toweled off at a Bantha's pace.

Sniffling, shivering in the cold, he crawled into his bed and curled up with the covers drawn tightly around him, clutching his still pulsing middle.   He would just close his eyes for a few minutes.  There was plenty of time.

 

 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

Itar'ala'sabosen collected his students' assignments and dropped the datacards one by one through the slot of the blind box he used to store the files anonymously.  As was standard practice for Chiss classes, each file was numbered randomly and assigned to a different student for each project, thus negating the possibility of any show of favoritism when scoring assignments.  He didn't know if other teachers followed such a strict regimen, but he did not much care what they did.  Commander Ralas strove for fairness in all things, and in his class, his rules were his alone to uphold.

He kept an eye on the students filing by Cadet Hux's desk, alert for anyone attempting to disturb the things the boy had left behind.  For some reason -- the commander couldn't imagine why -- the other cadets disliked Hux, and made a game of bullying and tormenting him whenever the opportunity arose.  Of all the students under his tutelage, Cadet Hux was the only one who showed real promise and dedication toward learning Cheunh.  The boy seemed sincere and respectful of the Chiss language and culture, which was rare for outsiders.  Perhaps the others were simply envious of his abilities.

After all his years of teaching, the concept of hazing wasn't new to him, but he had yet to acclimate to the particular brand of jealousy and cruelty humans could dish out.  Once the last cadet had exited the classroom, Commander Ralas returned to his desk and looked up the phrase "time of the month".  

He frowned at the result.

His familiarity with human biology extended only to that which he had learned as a matter of combat offense and defense in the military, but he was quite certain males of the species did not menstruate. 

_Another crass insult._

He sighed and put his datapad and the file case into his satchel and stopped to collect Hux's things on the way out.  Hux's temperature had been on the high side of the human average; perhaps he was falling ill to some intestinal parasite or bacteria. Ralas determined to stop by the medbay on the way back to his quarters to check up on the boy and deliver his school bag and homework assignments.

To his surprise, Cadet Hux was not in the infirmary, nor had he reported in and checked out already.

It was not like the cadet to disobey a direct order.

Ralas frowned again, considering his next course of action.

He backtracked to the lavatory nearest his classroom and stepped in.  Several of the stalls were occupied, and five students who had gathered around the sink fell silent and jumped to attention, saluting when they noticed him.  Their body heat flared briefly in a response indicating embarrassment.

"Pardon the intrusion, cadets. Has anyone seen Cadet Hux?"

They shrugged and mumbled something in the negative, but seemed to be telling the truth.

Ralas raised his voice, directing his call toward the closed stalls, "Cadet Hux, are you present?"

No one answered.

"As you were, cadets," he said, and left.  Consulting his datapad, he found which dorm room the boy was assigned to and made his way there.

A curly-haired, dark-skinned boy answered the door and jumped in surprise upon seeing the commander instead of whomever else he'd been expecting.  "Whassamatter? You forget the code again, dumba— Ah! Sir! Apologies! Cadet Mazan, at your service, sir!" he saluted and stood at attention.

The commander glanced over Mazan's shoulder, certain he already knew the answer to his question as he asked, "Please forgive my sudden appearance, Cadet Mazan, I'm searching for Cadet Hux." One of the bunks was still properly cornered and smoothed, and the nearby desk's chair was flush to the edge of the table, the desk itself clear of any projects.

"Hux? No, sir. Haven't seen him all day, sir." The boy's gaze shifted to the familiar bag hanging from Ralas' shoulder.  "If you like, I can stow his things for you."

Hesitant to leave Hux's property with this unknown cadet, who seemed suspiciously eager, Ralas hummed to himself in thought.  "Do you have any idea where I might find him?"

"You might try the library, sir. He spends a lot of time there. Sometimes he sleeps there, I think."

"Thank you, Cadet. Carry on."

 _Curious. Breaking protocol and curfew to sleep in the library?_  Ralas thought as he walked to his next destination.   _What, exactly, is going on here?_

As he had come to expect, Hux was not to be found in the library either.  With little recourse, he turned to the commandant's office.  He hated to disturb him, but he could at least trust Hux's father to collect his things and deliver them unscathed.


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you saying he disobeyed a direct order?" Brendol growled, one bushy eyebrow rising as he set down his glass of brandy. Ice clinked against the faceted crystal.

Ralas frowned. It must have been his inadequate Basic that was at fault for not being able to get his point across.  "Well, no, sir, that's not exactly what I meant. I was simply concerned for his well-being; he seemed quite ill, but reluctant to miss out on his studies."

"So you ordered him to go to the infirmary.  And he did not."

This was not the turn the commander had expected this conversation to take. The commandant seemed to think he wanted to report Armitage, but that had not been his intention at all.  Aside from his unexpected tardiness this afternoon, Cadet Hux was a model student. And, given his probable illness, one small infraction could be forgiven. The commandant's coloration and mannerisms, due in part to the alcohol he'd imbibed, confused Ralas. Commandant Hux appeared to be angry rather than concerned for his son.

"In addition to disobeying an order, he was late, disruptive, inattentive, and apparently negligent of his belongings." Brendol motioned for the commander to set the boy's things in the chair beside his desk, which he did.

"Sir, I simply wanted to return his things and see that he was going to be alright. I never meant to imply that he was in any trouble."

"Ah, Commander Ralas. There is something you must understand about Armitage.  It pains me to say this, but, in truth, he is a lazy, devious boy who will come up with any excuse to shirk his duties.  It is only through the constant vigilance of myself and your fellow professionals that he's even made it this far in life. You've been an instructor for quite some time; I'm sure you've encountered the sort.  And, of course, with your record for fairness and kindness, Armitage has no doubt seen fit to take advantage of your lenience. I apologize for his disgraceful and dishonorable behavior."

Ralas' frown deepened. The child Brendol described didn't match the image he'd formed of Cadet Hux at all.  Though, he supposed it was possible that he'd been duped -- his father would know him better, after all.

"I strongly recommend strict measures be taken, in order to correct this behavior before it gets out of hand.  This is his first semester in the academy, and he must learn that the military will not tolerate such selfish and irresponsible behavior.  What would you recommend as a punishment for his indiscretions?"

The commander's stomach tightened.  He hadn't wanted to punish the boy at all.  Despite his belief that discipline be maintained, nothing about this felt right.  But if his father were correct, and Cadet Hux was somehow lying to him in order to cut class...

"The standard disciplinary measures call for 2 demerits for tardiness, 5 for negligence, and I would place the disruption at 1, as it was minor and also his first offense.  Disobeying orders calls for a minimum of 10 lashes, publicly administered, for a first offense, with possible expulsion depending upon the severity of the defiance."

"And lying to a superior officer?"

"Lying is punishable with 5 to 10 lashes, as well as expulsion, but I—" Ralas hesitated, and Brendol rushed to fill the pause.

"Do not be taken in by his charm, Commander. He lied to you. Manipulated you. Dishonesty is a stain upon the glory of the Empire."

"Five lashes will be sufficient."

"Very well." Brendol filled out the rest of the report and presented his datapad to Ralas. "Sign here."

Ralas swiped his finger across the line and bid the commandant farewell. As he walked back to his quarters he pondered all that had just transpired.  He couldn't allay the feeling that he'd been manipulated, but whether it was by Hux the younger or the elder, he couldn't say.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

"Well, there you are."

Hux made a small noise of confusion and stirred at the sound of his father's voice rumbling through the haze of whatever he'd been dreaming.

"What the frack do you think you're doing here, sleeping while you have school?"

The terrible, icy realization of where he was and who was speaking to him sent a shiver through him.  He sat up with a gasp, panic clenching his throat.  "Fa— Commandant, s-sir! I—" his eyes darted toward the refresher, Brendol's glare following his shift of attention. "I was just waiting for—" He didn't want to say it, but his father was already looking and would soon find out, and the longer he hesitated, the worse it would be for him "—for the blood to soak so I could finish cleaning..."

"What blood?" Brendol shifted his hulking mass and stomped into the refresher. "You got in another fight?"

"N-no. No, sir."

"And why aren't you doing your homework instead of loafing about?"

"I— I— wasn't feeling well, so I—" Hux looked around, his eyes widening as he remembered he'd left his things in Commander Ralas' classroom. _Oh, no!_ "I'm sorry, sir. I should have—"

"You couldn't because you irresponsibly left all your kark in class, where anyone could have taken it. Commander Ralas had to go out of his way to—"  Pulling up a swath of sodden fabric he made a face and dropped it, voice shifting into the darker, harsher tone that signaled he was on the brink of losing his temper. "Why is there blood in your underwear? What have you been doing you degenerate little freak?"

Operating on pure fear and instinct, Armitage pushed himself back and away, clutching the sheets around him as his father drew near again.  He didn't know what to say.  He'd hoped to have everything cleaned up and put away before Brendol came home.  The thought of telling him what had really happened horrified him. "Nothing, sir."

"Don't you lie to me, boy.  You've been letting that Doran boy fuck you, haven't you?"

 _Letting...?_ "What? No, sir." He bit his lip to stop its trembling.

"If you're going to be a pervert, the least you could do is be the one giving it. But you wouldn't, would you? You fracking useless sissy. Just like your whore mother; spreading your legs for everyone who makes eyes at you. You disgust me!"

Hux sniffled, fighting back tears and staring in disbelief. _He thinks I_ like _this?_ "I—" anger welled up in him from some deep, hidden reserve, and he shouted back in defiance, "I didn't want to! He forced me! It hurt!" He searched his father's eyes for some hint of sympathy, but finding none, lost his tenuous hold on his emotions and sobbed. "I just wanted to rest for a while; I'm sorry! I'll clean it up!"

Brendol's scowl morphed into a sneer. His fists shook with barely contained rage.  Infuriated by the sound of his son's crying, he snarled, "Who 'forced' you?"

Armitage pulled the covers up to his neck, wishing he could disappear under them.  _He's not going to believe me.  He'll be so angry._   "Major Kindan, s-sir."

He cringed, expecting his father to scream at him for lying and hit him, but Brendol only glared at him for a tense moment, then turned and left the room.  Armitage briefly considered shutting himself in the refresher, but he knew that would only further incense the commandant.  The door didn't lock anyway, and it would be only a matter of time before he busted it open. He slid out of bed, his breath hitching at the renewed twinge of pain, and hurried to the sink to start scrubbing at the stains.  Frustration made his tears fall faster. He hadn't been asleep for very long, and the cloth hadn't soaked long enough to make much difference.  The blood wouldn't come out.

A metallic scraping sound from out in the hall froze him where he stood.

_No! Not that!_

The urge to run surged through him, but his feet, weighted with fear, wouldn't budge.  There was nowhere for him to run anyway.  Nowhere he could hide from his father's wrath.  The commandant rounded the corner, dragging a durasteel footlocker behind him.  It looked much smaller than Armitage remembered.  It had been years since he'd last seen it, and he'd grown a lot in that time.

Brendol dropped the trunk with a strident _clang_ and strode toward him. Armitage jumped at the sound, his heart racing, hyperventilating as he begged his father for mercy. "Please, sir! Not that! I can't!"

"You wanted to lie down, you depraved little faggot—" His father's rough hand encircled his skinny arm and wrenched him forward, dragging him toward the metal box, "—You can do it in here!"

"No! Please, sir, I'm— I'm ok now! I'll finish cleaning up! Please!" 

He wasn't ok.  He was far from ok, but he hoped that his offer to work hard would convince the commandant to leave him alone for just a little bit longer.

It didn't.

His shins barked against the sharp lip of the footlocker as Brendol pushed him forward.  He hissed, trying not to cry out, though terror cracked his voice, "Please! I'll never f-fit! I won't be able to breathe!"

His father ignored all of his protests and shoved him down onto his hands and knees in the tiny space. "You'll fit if I have to break your _fracking_ arms and legs! Stop your whining and get in!"

Armitage knew the truth of the commandant's threats in his bones; long-since-healed fractures attested to the violence he could unleash if he were defied.  Quaking in terror, he curled up on his side. He struggled against the fear-induced paralysis to fold his gangly limbs into the uncomfortable positions necessary to conform to the confining area.  He had to bend his neck -- pressing his chin into his sternum, his head rammed into the unyielding corner -- and pull his knees up to his chest in order to fit.

Before he could shift any further, Brendol slammed the lid shut, putting a foot on top of it to force it closed.  Hux whimpered as his collarbones creaked under the pressure.  He would have cried out, but it was already too difficult to breathe.  With his lungs constricted by his arms wedged against his sides, it was all he could do to catch his breath.  Through his panicked gasps, he could hear the heavy stomps of his father's feet moving away from him.

"Please! I can't— I can't breathe!" he wheezed, barely able to move his jaw to speak.

"Lights, zero percent," Brendol grumbled, and was gone.

Another small whine escaped him as the darkness enveloped him, but he stayed quiet.  The longer he could remain silent, the sooner his father would let him out.

Maybe.

Within minutes, what little air there was became stuffy and suffocating.  Sweat dripped from every pore, tracing the bony angles of his thin frame and pooling under him.  He recalled, when he was little, he would press his face to the tiny vent holes at the head of the box to get at the fresh air, but now his shoulders and neck were jammed up against them.  He could move his feet just enough to let in some air from the vents at that end, but he couldn't rest without blocking them again.

Unable to see any light, he closed his eyes.  He knew it hadn't really been that long, but it felt like an eternity already.  Just the smell of it was enough to make him ill -- the astringent tang of cleaner attempting to mask the stench of stale urine and worse.   It had been so long since he'd last been in here; he'd grown so much he thought he'd never have to endure this again.  And to think he'd imagined it was too small before!

He hated the box.  More than any other punishment, it drained him of his desire to live.  Armitage tried not to think about it, but he needed to flex his muscles periodically to prevent cramping as much as he could.  Fire already radiated from his neck down his spine.  There was no way to dissociate or sleep, nothing he could do but be present with his agony and despair. 

And no way of knowing how long he would be kept here.


	6. Chapter 6

Brendol huffed as he sat down to a fresh snifter of Corellian brandy and the day's security footage.  He couldn't access the classroom's records for some reason -- no doubt deliberate sabotage on Kindan's part -- so, for now, he forwarded the corridor's recording to the exact time the boy should have left Kindan's CommSec class.  Naturally, he knew the boy's schedule front and back; it wouldn't do to leave him unobserved, lest he get up to something that might bring shame upon the family name, which he'd so grudgingly allowed the boy to bear.  Sure enough, his careful preparation had confirmed his suspicions; the boy exited a good ten minutes after the last cadet had left, hunched over and hurrying toward Ralas' classroom.

Freezing the Holo, zooming in past the boy's pained expression to examine his uniform, Brendol noticed a spot of blood the boy had missed, a tiny bead of crimson shining against the polished sheen of his black boots.  His lip curled at the breech of cleanliness.  _Careless boy_.  

He shook his head in disgust and took another sip of the amber spirits, sighing at the calming tang of its astringent fullness.  Cutting to the time Ralas reported the boy's dismissal, he felt a tiny peak of satisfaction that at least everyone around him wasn't an incompetent fool. Ralas' report had been correct to the very second the boy had run out. _For a bunch of aliens, at least the Chiss have their kark together.._.

The boy shuffled to the nearest lavatory and didn't re-emerge for five and a half minutes. When he did, he cast furtive glances about, on the lookout for any witnesses.  Brendol already knew where he'd gone, but he continued to watch nonetheless.  Though the boy tried to keep his back to the bulkheads as much as possible without attracting undue attention, Brendol could see that the seat of his pants had indeed become quite red.

 _Disgusting_. No doubt the boy had been in some kind of trouble and worked his wiles upon Kindan in order to get out of it.  Merillai was a strange, old man, a lonely widower since the Galactic Civil War, and Brendol had seen the lascivious way he'd eyed the boy at their occasional dinners together.  He supposed he should have expected this from the boy sooner or later.  _Blood will out_.

Brendol paid no mind to the crisp salutes the boy rendered to passing officers, despite his obvious pain, he only noticed the tilt of his palm had been a degree or two off on the last one. _Sloppy_.

The audio feed, magnified, told him that it was his own code the sneaky little brat had entered to get in. Fortunately, the hidden indoor security camdroids activated upon entry at any biosignature that wasn't Brendol's.  He hopped from cam to cam, watching as the boy undressed and attempted to clean the bloodstains in his trousers and underwear, crying like a baby the entire time. He hadn't noticed the spot on his boots and it no doubt remained. Brendol sneered. After a while, he gave up -- _typical_ \-- and crawled into the shower to sob some more.

Was it too much to ask the universe for one decent child to carry on his lineage? Apparently, it was.  He sped through the boy scrubbing at his skin like a demon trying to free itself from its host. _If only he'd applied himself as much to his uniform as his worthless hide, perhaps he would have been able to clean up and escape before I'd caught him._

Brendol sighed the deep sigh of one who'd long suffered the ineptitude of those around him, and finished off the last of his drink in one gulp.  The ice cube slid too far forward and smacked his nose.  Because of course it would.  Things hadn't gone badly enough for him today already.  It had been so embarrassing to have to apologize, again, for the whelp's inconsiderate behavior.  Swearing, he slammed the glass down with a hard _clink_.

He sat for some time, listening for any noises from the boy's room.  He could still hear his over-exaggerated breathing, and the occasional whimper, but he'd at least ceased his incessant whining.  _If I'd_ ever _acted like such a sissy baby in front of_ my _father..._ Brendol shuddered at the thought, not because his parents had been unreasonable, but because he couldn't have lived with himself at the thought of letting his parents down.  He'd been a model son, student, and soldier. He'd worked with _Jedi_ , for frack's sake! He'd _earned_ the right to call his father "Father". Brendol didn't understand how his boy was perfectly fine with being such a constant disappointment.  He'd done everything he could to toughen the boy up, and instill a sense of duty and honor in him, and it had fallen on deaf ears.  _No doubt, due in part to that bitch, Sloane's, influences._ He'd have to get back to basics more often, improve upon his methods, now that she spent most of her time on the _Eclipse._

The door chime rang and Brendol growled for whoever it was to enter.  As a service droid hovered in, bearing his dinner, Brendol heard a clattering that hadn't quite been masked by the sounds of the droid laying out his meal.  The boy trying to shift about in there, hoping he wouldn't be heard. _Well, that's no dinner for you, then_.  He shook his head again.  _So disobedient_.  The boy had claimed he needed to rest, so he'd been given a place to do it, and he couldn't even do that without breaking the rules.  He knew, by now, that he had to harden the frack up, be still, and keep his bellyaching to himself. So long as he could learn to obey one simple task, he would be let out sooner.  The one good thing the boy had going for him -- an impeccable memory -- and yet he couldn't seem to remember this one, little thing.

His life had begun with so much promise.  The boy was intelligent beyond his years, Brendol would give him that.  He'd begun speaking far earlier than most children, and had learned to read and write before he was even a year old.  Brendol was certain, once the boy's powers developed, that he would be privileged to be taken in and trained by the Inquisitorius, perhaps even by Lord Vader himself, and someday might even become the Emperor's apprentice when he was old enough... 

But he was so sickeningly _soft_.

The boy had a streak of pacifism that would have put the most devout Jedi to shame.  He would rather allow himself to be beaten and bullied than fight back. He cried at flowers being crushed under hoof when the nerfs were let out to pasture.  He brought tea around to the cadets in the infirmary.  He snuck into the kitchen to be with that woman, having her teach him how to bake silly little pastries and how to speak that ridiculous native language, after he'd been explicitly told never to go in there.  Despite Brendol's strict rules forbidding pets of any kind inside the campus grounds, the boy continually brought in a never ending zoo of small, often injured, animals and attempted to nurse them back to health in secret.

At least he'd divested the boy of that notion once the siege began, and the hobbled eopie he'd hidden in the shed was slaughtered and made into the evening meal for those trapped inside the main citadel.  Brendol had been somewhat pleased to see that spark go out of his eyes, never to return.

If only he could have rid the boy of the rest of his weaknesses.

As if on cue, Brendol heard another small whimper, no doubt as the boy realized he wasn't going to be fed.

_That's two more hours added._

It was for the boy's own good, after all.  All of it was.  He'd never survive in the real world with his pathetic attitude.  Not with the Empire a shadow of what it once was, hunted to near extinction by those infernal Rebels.  He would be expected to tolerate worse than this kind of confinement in just his SERE training.  Here he was, receiving a valuable life lesson, and all he could do was whine about it.  He'd have years of practice on the other cadets, and yet the ungrateful little bastard was still trying to cry his way out of it.  Someday, if he didn't wash out, he'd be thankful for all of Brendol's hard work when he was inevitably captured by the despicable Rebels and tortured for information.

No Hux would betray the Empire. Not so long as there was life left in Brendol Hux's body.  He would do whatever it took to ensure that never happened.

Savoring the smoky flavor of his fish fillet, his thoughts drifted to Arkanis.  He wondered briefly whether that kitchen wench had ever given birth to a second child, or if she'd aborted it as he'd caught her trying to do with the boy.  He wished, now, that he'd let her.   _Ah, hindsight_... By the time he found out the boy wouldn't be Force-sensitive he'd had very little time to try again, given the bombardment and siege, and subsequent flight to Jakku and then the Unknown Regions. 

If she had been pregnant, he supposed the child would be about 6 years old now. _Six years of Republic permissiveness and decadence... but, not an entirely lost cause. Perhaps even worth it, if the child turned out to be Force-sensitive. I've heard that Skywalker himself is rebuilding the Jedi Academy..._ With all the new conditioning techniques Brendol had developed over the past seven years, it could be done. It might even be easier to start fresh on a child that hadn't been inured to pain.  He'd have to look into it.  Especially if _this_ one continued to be such an inexcusable failure.

The datapad had continued to play through the footage while Brendol ate, eventually coming to the point at which the boy had shouted that he'd been "forced" into deviant sexual acts.  When asked to name this supposed attacker, he'd whispered Kindan's name.  Brendol ran it back to listen again; it was there. Faint, but audible.

There, he paused it, considering.

The act itself was reprehensible. At a time when the Empire stood on the brink of extinction, homosexuality should be considered treason. Even so, the boy's (and Kindan's) degenerate proclivities were something he could work with...

He'd heard rumor of the _ISD Stormhawk_ 's decommissioning and dismantling, as well as that of the _ISD Torment_ and other _Imperial_   _I-_  and _II-_ Classes in their aging fleet, within the coming decade. High Command was on the brink of announcing their plans to re-outfit the fleet to suit their growing numbers; Brendol knew there had already been drafts floating about the engineering corps for bigger, faster, better-armed ships.  Kindan had been one of the few instructors tapped by High Command to start an academy of his own on one of these new ships _,_ and it always paid to have leverage on one's rivals.  There was no way Brendol was letting that wrinkled, old rancor usurp his hard-won achievements.  Although, if there were something _here_ that he wanted, perhaps he could be convinced to remain a teacher rather than compete for the commandant's position... And if not, perhaps Brendol could kill two mynocks with one blast.  If he couldn't get into the locked classroom footage, he could gather evidence in other ways.

Pain was an excellent teacher.  It was, in fact, the only method that could truly change a subject's behavior.  _If the boy could be convinced of the error of his repulsive ways, while at the same time serving my plans -- indeed, since it seems following in his mother's footsteps is the only thing he's apparently any good for..._

Brendol smiled.  The plan would take some time to pan out, but if he were patient and careful, he could snare more than one deviant in this trap.  Much like his conditioning process, repeated and prolonged efforts would be required, but the payoff would be well worth the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

He just needed to stay still.

 _Stay still and everything will be alright. Just breathe. Slow breaths_. _That's it. Don't think about it. Don't move. You'll be ok. You'll be let out soon. There are lessons tomorrow; he wouldn't allow you to miss lessons. It's just one night. You've been in here for longer. You can do this._

Hux tried to calm himself, but what little air circulated through the cramped space had become so stifling. The veins in his temples throbbed.  He felt like he was always hovering just on the brink of unconsciousness.  Passing out in these conditions could be deadly, and though he often wished he were dead, he didn't _really_ want to die. _Not here. Not like this._

Once he'd heard the service droid come in to serve the commandant's meal, he'd been able to squirm around under the cover of the sound enough to free his arm ever so slightly. At least it had relieved a little of the pressure on his chest and enabled him to scratch the maddening itch on the tip of his nose and flick some of the sweat from his eyes.  His hair remained plastered to his forehead in strands, like a running watercolor sunset; he couldn't reach that far.

His stomach knotted at the smell of the food.  Real food; not the slop the cadets ate in the mess hall.  It reminded him of home, of a time long before this seemingly unending, miserable journey through space.  He had few happy memories of Arkanis, but the savory scent of fish in canespice sauce made him think of his mother's reddened, worn hands, dotted with the scars of small nicks and burns, reaching out to hand him some small morsel of cake or to caress his face.

Whimpering, he tried to hold on to the scrap of memory, tried to recall her face, but it left him alone in the darkness with his pain, hunger, exhaustion, and the interminable heat.

He couldn't decide if his nakedness helped, or if the sticky feel of salted skin on skin was more or less disgusting than feeling the oppressive weight of sodden clothes on top of everything else.  The more he tried not to think about it, the more every trivial annoyance bothered him.  His bladder was beginning to feel uncomfortably full as well.  Just when he thought he could escape to some distant space outside his head, his leg or back would spasm, and he'd become aware of every side of the metal locker pressing in on him, crushing him.

At some point during the night (hopefully after Brendol had gone to bed or passed out, drunk, on the sofa) he lost control, kicking and struggling and crying and screaming, worn out and frustrated to the point of madness by the confining walls.  Pushing against them didn't help, it only fueled his panic.  He couldn't break out without any leverage.  He was too _weak_.

He stopped almost as suddenly as he'd started, fear slithering through him at the thought of his father having heard.  Armitage couldn't believe he'd lost his wits so quickly.   _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid boy! Get a hold of yourself! What’s wrong with you?_   He blamed the lack of oxygen and sleep, but none of that would matter to Brendol; his brief descent into animal instinct would have dire consequences if he'd been heard.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but he was certain he'd just added a whole lot more to his sentence.  Already, whole star systems had been born and died. He was sure of it.

Just when he thought he'd panic and either wet himself or start crying again, he heard a gruff voice outside.

"Lights, one-hundred percent."

After a few beeps and a click, the lid popped open. Relief and apprehension surged through him in equal measure. He gasped at the abundance of fresh air that washed over him, but squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding brightness.  Despite the overwhelming urge to jump out, he dared not move even a micron from his current position until permission had been granted.

Brendol made him wait for an interminable amount of time for that as well.  Finally, Armitage did his best to put enough edge in his voice to sound like he was making a proper request, rather than pleading, and dared to venture, "Sir, may I use the refresher?"

"Get up. You've got thirty minutes to get yourself presentable for class.  Do _not_ be late again."  He turned to leave, calling back over his shoulder, "And, you have a priority message on your datapad. See that you respond promptly."

"Yes, sir," Hux croaked, struggling to push himself out of the footlocker.  His legs, neck, and back had cramped up, shooting fire up his spine, and it felt like a thousand stinging ants had taken hold of his limbs and were slowly but surely devouring him.  He slipped in the puddles of sweat, banging his chin against the edge, but didn't dare utter a sound while his father might still be near.  

Hux pulled himself up, more slowly than he would have liked, and stumbled into the 'fresher to relieve himself and shower off.  He made eye contact with his reflection in the mirror only long enough to dry and smooth his hair into place, and paid no attention to his sallow cheeks and haunted eyes.  His stomach rumbled, but he ignored that, too, as he pulled a spare uniform from the closet and shrugged it on, fastening the clasps and smoothing down any wrinkles.

On his desk, a light from his datapad flashed red in the corner, indicating the message his father had been talking about.  He’d never received a priority message before.


	8. Chapter 8

_> >Attn: CDT-184, Cadet Armitage Hux, Stormhawk Academy_

_> >Notice of Reprimand_

_> >Issued by: The Office of the Commandant; Reprimanding Officer: Commander Itar’ala’sabosen, Instructor of Chiss Language and Culture_

_> >Cadet Armitage Hux is hereby reprimanded for the following offenses and notified of the corresponding punishments to be received at 09:00 (ST) on Pentaday, the 22nd of the 5th month, during the public assembly to be held on the parade grounds of deck 24, section 5-C:_

_\- 10 demerits issued for: tardiness (2), negligence of property (5), disruption (1), uniform infractions (2)_

_\- 15 lashes, public, issued for: lying (5), disobeying a superior (10)_

_> >Attached is a document requiring your signature, to be returned within one standard duty cycle, acknowledging admission of guilt (or a rebuttal including any extenuating or mitigating circumstances), an assurance that this kind of deplorable behavior will not be repeated, and an understanding that you have reviewed the proper protocol to be followed before, during, and after the assembly and receipt of your punishment._

_> >An additional confirmation is required if you wish to exchange demerits for corporal punishment at a rate of 2 lashes per demerit._

_> >As a cadet in the First Order military, your actions have reflected poorly on your fellow officers and peers, and have violated the trust of your superiors.  They have caused question as to your judgement, integrity, professionalism, and potential for future military service.  It is the hope of this office that you will learn from your mistakes and that you will strive to correct your future conduct and re-attain your class standing as expediently as possible.  Further misconduct will be met with more severe action._

_> >For the Glory of the Empire and the Order,_

_> >Commander Itar’ala’sabosen, First Order Navy_

_> >Commandant Brendol Hux, Stormhawk Academy_

Armitage stared at the memorandum for several minutes, comprehending the words but not understanding them.  Numb with shock, his eyes darted between the name of the reprimanding officer and the charges and punishment to be administered.  His chest constricted as if he were still trapped in the box.

_Why?_

Looking at the cold words glowing up at him, he was forced to come to terms with just how quickly one mistake could compound into many.  His face went hot.  He couldn’t deny that he had done all of those things, but he hadn’t _meant_ to do them.  He thought Commander Ralas had understood and forgiven him, given the circumstances.  Armitage struggled with the notion that it was all _so unfair_ , but deep down he knew he deserved it.  He had taken advantage of a rare kindness.  He should have gone to the infirmary as ordered.

 _I’m such a disgrace_.

Fear quickly overtook shame and self-pity; the punishments would be rendered in just two days’ time, and Armitage realized he had no idea what to expect.  He’d seen others whipped before, but he'd never bothered to memorize all of the protocols because he’d never expected to be in this situation.  He tried so very hard to follow the rules and conduct himself appropriately, but he had failed himself yet again by not being prepared.  He knew that the caveat about "extenuating circumstances" was nothing more than a formality -- any cadet making excuses would face even stricter punishments, and most likely expulsion -- but he didn't want to sign his name to something until he understood everything that the missive had asked of him.  He still had 8 hours to respond, anyway.

However, at the moment, he had less than 10 minutes to report to morning assembly.  Shutting off his datapad, he shoved it into his bag and hurried out.  His father was about to leave as well, so he straightened up his posture, even though it was still a bit painful, and pushed himself to make it to the turbolifts before Brendol.  He did, but not by enough of a margin to have escaped into an earlier lift.  Instead, he stood in awkward silence, holding the door while his father caught up.  He was certain the Commandant had purposefully slowed his pace; for a man in his 50s, he could move with the sudden swiftness of a predator when he wanted to.  Armitage resisted the urge to consult his chrono.

Other cadets in the turbolift whispered amongst themselves about the excitement of the upcoming Empire Day festivities, but fell silent when the doors slid open to reveal Hux standing there.  Used to this sort of treatment, he stayed quiet and stepped inside but kept his head up and eyes front, not wanting to let them see how their animosity affected him, especially when his father would be along shortly.  Someone drew breath to hiss an insult just as Brendol appeared, and everyone snapped to attention in unison. 

"Good morning, cadets," he grumbled.

"Good morning, sir!"

"As you were."

The rest of the trip to the assembly hall passed with Hux feeling the cadets' glares boring into his back; they blamed him for his father's presence killing their fun.  Despite their enmity, and everything else that had happened, he found himself looking forward to the rally.  Once everyone had filed in, standing tall, facing the flags of the Empire and the Order, their voices raised as one singing their anthems and reciting the officers' code, pledging their allegiance to everything it stood for, he could feel like he belonged.  That his one voice amongst the many meant something.  That he had a purpose and a duty to something greater than himself.  That his participation _mattered_.

That _he_ mattered.

He knew it wasn't true, of course.  He didn't matter at all, even if it was nice to feel that way.  He could be replaced by any one of the thousands of students gathered here.  Only the triumph of order over the terrorist dogs who had defiled his homeworld and wreaked havoc and destruction throughout the galaxy mattered in the end.  It was only right and fair that they pay for what they'd done, casting their rightful rulers out into the wilds of unknown space, and all the while ruining their own worlds through their inept governance.  If his life didn't mean anything to those around him, it could at least mean something if he gave it in service to the First Order.

Though his stomach complained at having missed yet another meal, he paid it no mind.  This euphoria wouldn't last for long, and he wanted to cling to it for as long as possible before the day returned to its monotony of teasing and loneliness.

The speaker of the day regaled them with tales of distinguished Imperials past, and battles won due to the tireless perseverance and cunning of their commanding officers.  Hux listened with great interest, determined to understand and emulate whatever qualities these men and women possessed.  Someday he would be in charge of planning and directing massive battles such as these.  And, someday, lecturers at an academy would be telling eager young cadets about _his_ strategies and victories, and how he helped lead the Empire to greatness once more.

It was his _destiny_ , after all.

At least, that's what Sloane had said.  

That's what the voice in his head kept telling him.

The ceremony closed with the singing of the Army and Naval Anthems, and their receipt of the Empire Day celebration event schedules on their datapads.  As they all filed out to attend their various lessons, Hux scrolled through the festival assignments until he got to the speeder bike races.  He had applied to join the race months ago, but now he worried that his recent misconduct would bar him from participating.  Thankfully, it had not; his name was listed among the other competitors as he'd hoped.  The only problem was that the race was to be held on Hexaday morning, the day after his public lashing.  He wondered whether he'd feel up to participating after all that.

The fact that Empire Day was also his birthday had gone completely forgotten amidst all Hux's other worries.  Grand Admiral Sloane was the only person who'd ever paid it any mind anyhow, and even her visits to him had waned in recent years.  In the front pocket of his school bag, his hand automatically closed around the carved, wooden Star Destroyer she'd given him 6 years ago, as it did whenever he contemplated his future.  In just that short time, his thumb had already worried the conning tower shield generators down into little more than smooth bumps.

On the way out of the rally, Hux stopped to consult the rank board to see how far he would drop with 10 demerits. The striated, shimmering, blue letters taunted him from the top of the screen -- for now, he was still 1st in his class, and 5th in the academy overall, since the punishment had not yet been officially administered.  At 112.7589 points, he couldn't afford to lose so many this close to the mid-point of the year. Ten demerits would put him below 50th place. Unsure if he could make up for such a hit before the year was out, he gave serious thought to just taking the lashes instead.

_Thirty-five... Could I handle it?_

He'd been whipped at home by his father before, but never more than ten at a time.  One of the more painful punishments in his father's repertoire, Armitage wasn't eager to repeat it.  Certainly not three times as many and then five more for good measure.

_But stripes will heal in a few weeks' time, and my score won't recover so quickly._

He continued to ponder this all through advanced Rakatan mathematics and Imperial history.  Hux was fairly certain he knew what his father expected him to do.  Without his ranking, he was nothing.  His spot at the top was envied, but also marginally respected.  At least his teachers knew he’d earned it through his own hard work, even if his peers didn’t think so.  Though he might be bullied less if he were to fall from grace, that didn’t matter in the end.  Only his success or failure mattered.

This line of thought was driven home as he sat, alone, at the end of his usual lunch table in the mess hall.  In the relative silence of the cafeteria -- they were permitted to talk, but only the upperclassmen ever seemed to have time to, and no one ever talked to him anyway -- he researched the protocol for the ceremony, memorizing it with terrible ease.  What he couldn’t find mention of was what it would feel like to receive so many lashes at once, or what he should do afterwards.  The few HoloVids he could find of Imperial academy punishments seemed to suggest, from the reactions of the recipients, that he would go into shock or perhaps lose consciousness after anywhere from ten to twenty strikes, and then would be carried off by the attending cadets to the medbay.  He had to mute the vids for anything over ten, after one sharp cry attracted the unwanted attention of his classmates.

On her way past him to put away her tray, one girl sneered, “Can’t study your way through pain, _General_.”

He frowned, but he knew she was right. All he was doing was making himself even more anxious at this point.

 _I’ll show them.  I’ll fracking do it_.

He clicked back to the confirmation documents on the letter, entered in the number of demerits to be exchanged, and signed his name to both consent forms, sending it off before he could change his mind.  Staring at the “message sent” notification, his hands began to tremble.

He curled them into tight fists.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days passed too quickly, and the nights too slowly.  Armitage tried to concentrate on his lessons, hoping that if he immersed himself in them he could forget about all that had transpired in the previous days, but a persistent numbness followed him around like a storm cloud, occasionally unleashing torrential rains of anxiety.  Whenever he had to disrobe, even when he was alone, his heart raced and he felt as though he could not catch his breath.  He tried to take quick catnaps between duties, hiding out in his usual spot in the library when he could slip away for 10 or 15 minutes, but awakened in a sweat, panicking every time.  Exhausted as he was, even the usually unpleasant, after-school training with his father and the Stormtroopers passed in a haze.  In class, he kept his head down and his eyes on the HoloProjectors or his datapad, desperate to stay out of trouble and avoid notice. 

Starship Engineering, normally his favorite class, held little interest for him.  It was the last lesson before the next day's dreaded assembly, and he could do little to maintain his focus.  In a fist clenched beside his datapad, his thumb continually worked over the angles and planes of the little, wooden Star Destroyer.  It wasn't enough that he keep it with him, out of sight in his bag; he needed its once-sharp edges to press into his scarred palms, to keep _him_ sharp.

He stared hard at his datapad, trying to make sense of the schematic of the _Imperial II_ -class conning tower he was meant to be analyzing and comparing to the never-commissioned _Imperial III_ -class.  The Empire had run out of resources, and then the war had ended, before it could be produced. He wondered if they would reuse these plans for the _III_ , or if it would be too risky, given that the Republic saboteurs had no doubt gotten ahold of them by now. _Because, if they aren't going to use them, they’ll need new designs. Better designs..._

"Cadet Jansen," Lt. Colonel Brevis called out, "Have you located the improvements made between the towers?"

Jansen's head shot up from his datapad and Hux caught the briefest flicker as the screen reverted from something illicit to the blueprints they were meant to be studying. "Um... It's... taller, sir?"

"Oh, very good, Jansen. A round of applause for Cadet Jansen's promotion to Captain Obvious."

The entire class snickered, but none loud enough to stand out and catch the lt. colonel's ire. Even Hux fought the urge to smirk. _For once, let them devour someone else._

Hux raised his hand to answer, but in his sleep-deprived state, he’d completely forgotten the toy in his hand.  It clattered to the desk, skittering and spinning toward the edge.  He clapped his hand down to stop it falling off, but it had already been noticed.

“What is that, Cadet Hux?”

The class fell as silent as predators about to pounce, anticipating further humiliation and punishment.  They’d tasted blood with Jansen, and they wanted more.

Hux had to think fast. Carrying non-regulation items to class was yet another serious offense.  “It… It’s a model, sir.  Something I’ve been working on...”

Brevis strode over to his desk and cast his flinty stare down at the wooden object, suspicious of Hux's dubious response.  “Explain.”

Hux stared at the worn sliver for a moment before an idea struck him. _The conning towers!_ He gasped at his own epiphany, feeling a fragile hope swell within his heart.  “Sir, I’ve heard that the fleet is due for an overhaul, and that there are new ships being designed.”

"That is classified information, Cadet."

Hux sat the Star Destroyer out on the edge of the desk for the professor to see, hoping that it would not be confiscated.  He pressed on, sleeplessness instilling him with a rare confidence and fervor. "Yes, sir, but when we do expand the fleet it's worth considering..." He switched on the sketch overlay on the schematic and hastily scratched out some lines as he spoke, transmitting his screen to the monitor at the front of the class.  "I thought it might be prudent to lower the profile of the typical Star Destroyer.” 

“I’m certain you are aware that a sleeker design will not make the ship go any faster in the vacuum of space? Then again, given the inanity of the comments I’ve received so far today, one can never be too sure.”

Several snorts of laughter accompanied the professor’s question.

Hux’s voice quickened to keep pace with his fingers, fighting to keep abreast of his thoughts before the idea fled him.  He ignored the professor’s snide remarks and the ire of his classmates; he was really onto something.  “As Cadet Jansen noted, the conning tower is taller in the _Imperial III_ -class. However, speed was not my concern, sir.  Rather, safety: the conning towers have always been an obvious target for small fighter craft, which are difficult to defend against.  Rather than make the towers larger or taller, what if we eliminated them altogether? The bridge crew would benefit immensely from being further out of harm’s way and harder to pinpoint against the bulk of the hull, and we could widen the area as we flatten it, placing shield generators here and here, so that the shields maintain their range and efficacy.  Near the ends, like this, their field radius shouldn't be affected and the overlap will still cover the bridge. A lower profile is always better on the ground; there's no reason this shouldn't apply to space as well."

Brevis’ attention shifted from Hux’s model to the sketches on the display, to Hux, and back to the display again.  This could be the opportunity he’d been waiting for; something to get him out of the drudgery of the classroom and back into the field.   Impressed by his student’s creativity, he nonetheless kept his surprise disguised behind an icy tone.  _Best to dissuade the boy from delving too deeply into this when better, more deserving officers could develop it._   “While this is an excellent thought, I have serious doubts whether it could be put to any practical use.  I'm certain it has already been considered and dismissed.”

Another chorus of snickers.

“However… send that schematic of yours to my desk and I will mark it for later discussion.”

The laughter stopped.

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”  Hux’s hand darted out to retrieve the toy as he swiped the screencaps into a file and sent it to Lt. Colonel Brevis’ datapad.  If the professor noticed, he didn’t make mention of it.  Hux hid Sloane’s precious gift in his pocket before anyone else thought to comment on it.

The rest of the day slipped by uneventfully, aside from Hux’s growing anxiety.  Though the punishment protocols suggested he “eat a light, but healthy meal” and “get a full night’s rest” before the administration of the punishment, he found he could do neither of those things.  At dinner, he poked at his meal and couldn’t bring himself to down even the barest amount of nourishment required to sustain himself.  His stomach felt twisted into knots, and he struggled against the nausea that had plagued him since the assault.  That night, back in his dorm room, fear kept him in his usual position: lying on his back, staring up at the meaningless patterns in the supports of the bunk above him.

The more he tried not to think of the imminent pain, the easier it seemed for the haunting screams of those boys in the HoloVids to slip into his weary mind.  He didn’t want to cry out like that.  He knew his father would disapprove and make it worse for him later, somehow.  But those boys had been older and stronger than him, and even they had shouted and sobbed.  He just knew he was going to humiliate himself.  Shame his family.  Ruin any chance for respect he might ever have had.

 _They were older and stronger_ … He gave out a small hiccup of morbid laughter as the thought struck him: _Maybe I’ll break my second academy record… Youngest cadet ever to be publicly lashed_.  He glanced at the chrono in the middle of the room but couldn’t read it through the blur of his tears. No doubt it was nearing morning already.

_Alright, enough! Yes, it’s going to hurt. Just… get over it. There’s nothing to be done about that. For frack’s sake, just go to sleep! Stop thinking about it!_

When morning sounded in the guise of the chrono’s irritating trill, he could hardly keep his eyes open for his mind having run the triathlon of self-doubt, self-pity, and self-loathing all night. 

His datapad blinked with another priority message, which Vratik was quick to point out.  “Think they decided to give you more lashes for your nerfshit in engineering yesterday?” he snickered, Mazan and Hantell joining in with his laughter.  “Or, maybe daddy got a reprieve for his widdle baby boy.”

Hux scrubbed at his gritty, bloodshot eyes and ignored them, his lip curling as he almost added his own bitter laugh.  The thought that his father would take away such a prime “learning opportunity” as this…

The message informed him of the order of events for the ceremony, and that he would be second on the docket to receive “correction” today, meaning he would have to stand and watch someone else be lashed before taking his turn. He felt like retching at the dread that lanced through his stomach.  It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten all night.

He had some time until his punishment detail arrived and escorted him to the parade grounds, so he waited for his bunkmates to shower and leave before making his bed, then shuffled into the refresher to relieve and shower himself.  He took his time, for once, luxuriating under the hot water, knowing it would be some time before he could enjoy a feeling of cleanliness without pain.  He soaped up his back, working up a lather as his hands brushed over the bumpy scars of the previous punishments his father had administered.  He wondered how many more he’d have after today.  If he were lucky, only the last fifteen or so would break the skin. 

Armitage didn’t much believe in luck.

He toweled off and wiped down the shower area and the sink, then got dressed as quickly as he could, ignoring the demands of his empty belly.  His hands were shaking again, causing the metal clasps of his uniform to clink like tiny bells as he fastened them up.

He told himself it was just hunger.  A lack of sleep. 

Not fear. 

He could do this.  He’d been doing this his whole life.

The door chime sounded just as he finished straightening his collar. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and grabbed up his school bag, giving a final pat to the front pocket to be sure his little Star Destroyer was safely tucked away before joining the two older cadets in the corridor.  They announced their presence and their purpose, as was protocol, but said nothing more to him as they accepted custody of his bag and marched off with him secured between their much larger forms.

Armitage swallowed hard when they entered the assembly hall.  Thousands of cadets and crew alike had turned out for the proceedings.  He could swear he heard the voices of his tormentors in the crowd, joking and hissing insults at him through the murmur of voices.  _“Look at how scared –- thinks he’s so kriffing brave -– heard he took all the demerits as lashes -– what kind of fool -– why would he -- can’t wait to see him cry like a little bitch –- heard he begged his daddy for a way out –- heard he tried to suck that blue bastard’s dick to get out of it…”_   Hux tried, instead, to focus on the back of the cadet now standing in front of him.  Orlaj was a “firstie”, a cadet in his final year, and from his confident posture he seemed to be taking all of this in stride.  This wasn’t his only run in with school officials, and probably wouldn’t be his last, either.

 _Maybe it won’t be so bad.  At least I can watch everything First Cadet Orlaj does to be sure I won’t frack up and humiliate myself_.

Captain Doran spoke first, silencing the crowd and reminding them of the grave solemnity of the acts about to be performed, and that there was to be no talking or looking away during the administration of the punishments.  They were to be mindful of the infractions committed, and inspired, via this painful and lamentable reminder, to uphold the standards of the school, the officer corps, and the Empire itself.

The commandant took over then, announcing Orlaj and his offenses –- vandalism and disrespect of a superior officer -- and the punishment to be levied.  Twenty lashes.  Orlaj kept his head up and his chest puffed up in defiance as he listened.

Hux tried to keep his chin up as well, observing every move the older boy made. 

Orlaj was marched forward by his detail.  The medical officer scanned him and nodded her approval, then the whip was brought forward for him to inspect.  Hux couldn’t see it from where he was, but he was going to see plenty of it soon enough, anyway.  Orlaj shrugged, which definitely wasn’t protocol, and mumbled something rude, to which the two junior officers beside him reacted violently.  He was supposed to have then unfastened his tunic, but they instead ripped it from him without waiting, flinging his jacket to the ground and slapping him hard enough to nearly topple him over.  They dragged him out to the towering, cylindrical, stone pillar and clapped the binders on his wrists with such fury that the snaps of their magnetized interfaces echoed throughout the arena.

Armitage cringed, shaking in the grip of the two upperclassmen attending him and hoping he wouldn’t give them reason to be as vicious.  The slap was meant to be merely symbolic; a gesture to indicate that they disavowed his behavior, but most cadet escorts took the opportunity to dole out a bit of their own personal vengeance.  Hux knew both of his escorts, though in name only; First Cadets Valke and Sel’ara’nuruodo held the top overall spots on the rank board, and were also 1st and 2nd ranks, respectively, in their own class.  They were respectable, and responsible, and took all their duties seriously, but Hux didn’t think they were the types to be needlessly cruel.

The scourge unfurled the whip and tested its length and heft.  A single, sharp _crack_ echoed throughout the hall, commanding silence in a more authoritative voice than even the captain could muster.  He nodded to the commandant.  Brendol nodded back.

Even at such a remove, Hux could see the white knots of scar tissue that marked Orlaj’s tan back.  Though the older boy was an unrepentant troublemaker and probably deserved the treatment he’d earned, Hux couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of kinship at seeing his scars.  After all, he was a worthless frack-up, too.

Without warning, the whip cracked again, followed by the monotone shout of the scourge, “One!”

Armitage shuddered in sympathy, watching the ripple of muscle in Orlaj’s back as he tensed for the next strike.  The scourge always announced the count after the blow fell, so there would be no vocal cue by which to prepare oneself for the pain.  It seemed unnecessarily cruel, but Armitage was in no place to judge the methods of his superiors.

Orlaj endured in silence as Hux and the rest of the auditorium looked on.  Each successive crack sent a shiver of apprehension through Armitage, increasing his nervousness, but it wasn’t until the seventh strike, when the boy’s back split open in a fine line of crimson and he cried out, that Hux began to have doubts.  If it hadn’t been for the two upperclassmen standing to either side, gripping his arms firmly, he might have turned to run.

Glancing toward the doors, he froze when he caught sight of Grand Admiral Sloane sitting in the front row with Admirals Ar'alani and Vanto, just beside the commandant and Captain Doran.  He’d been so focused on everything else that he’d forgotten she’d be attending the Empire Day festivities while on her yearly inspection tour of the fleet.  His heart beat faster, but with a sudden swell of hope rather than fear.  Surely she would know this to be the underhanded work of his father and put a stop to it, but her attention remained focused on Orlaj.  She didn't glance toward Hux even once.

Halfway through Orlaj’s ordeal, which seemed simultaneously too slow and too fast, Hux decided he would rather have gone first.  _Stupid, stupid boy; what the frack were you thinking? Thirty-five? You’ll never make it! You won’t survive ten!_ He felt faint and struggled to keep his breathing even.  The cadets to either side of him didn’t look down at him, but they tightened their grip on his arms, whether because they were afraid he would bolt or pass out, Hux was unsure.

Before long, Orlaj was released from the restraints, falling limply into the arms of his escort.  As they dragged him past, Hux thought he would be sick at the stench of blood and urine.  The older boy had pissed himself -- from the pain or the fear, it didn’t matter -- Hux hoped he wouldn’t suffer such humiliation and disgrace.  _Thank the stars I haven’t eaten anything since the day before yesterday!_

Hux hesitated at taking his first step, but he allowed himself to be marched forward and did his best to mask his fear and cooperate with the upperclassmen.  He focused on his breathing to the exclusion of all else; he didn’t even hear the charges his father read out against him.  There was no turning back now.  He had chosen this.  One way or another, it was all for the best.  As long as he could make it through this, his score wouldn’t suffer.  His rank would stay the same and his father might even be proud of him for once.

The medical officer frowned at her scan and gave him the once over, skeptical of his ability to withstand this kind of severe punishment, but Armitage endeavored to control his fear.  His brow furrowed and his gaze hardened in determination.   _Please_ , he thought at her, _just let me get this over with_.

She nodded as though she'd heard his silent plea.

The whip he was shown glittered under the bright lights.  Armitage’s eyes widened at the sight of the tiny slivers of transparisteel embedded in the leather folds.  He was quite certain that was forbidden, but he didn’t dare question it.  Even if he were to protest, he was sure it would fall upon deaf ears; no doubt his father had requested it, and there was no higher authority to which he could appeal.

He took a deep breath and nodded his approval, feeling like a traitor to his own sanity and well-being.

When it came time for him to disrobe, his hands did not prove as cooperative.  As soon as his fingers brushed the first clasp, his mind began swirling with images of Major Kindan’s leering stare and the pain that had followed in that forsaken classroom.  He gasped and held his breath, desperate to steady his fingers and not cause any more trouble to Valke and Laran.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” he stammered, swallowing hard between bouts of hyperventilation, trying again and again to get his tunic unclasped.  He could feel Kindan’s stare from somewhere in the crowd, like spiders crawling over his skin. 

First Cadet Valke pushed Hux's trembling hands aside and unfastened the clips with practiced speed.  He was focused on his duty, not on humiliating the poor kid any further, though it couldn’t be helped.  “Turn your head when we strike you,” he whispered as he dropped the jacket on the floor.

Armitage had just enough sense not to respond, but he did as he was told.  Though the blows stung, they were not nearly as painful as he suspected they looked to the crowd.

He felt so small and vulnerable, shirtless in front of such an enormous gathering.  Everyone could see his scars.  Everyone would know what a terrible son and soldier he had been.  Fighting against the urge to hunch over and hide himself, he stood tall as they walked him out to the pillar.  The stone towered over him, the darkness of its violent purpose casting shadows of doubt over his resolution.

Laran pulled his arm out to clamp the first magnacuff around his wrist, and Hux apologized again as his arm tensed in involuntary defiance.  Valke stretched out Hux’s other arm, pitching him forward against the rough stone, but quickly realized that an unforeseen problem had arisen.  Hux was too small to be properly secured.  Indeed, he could not recall a cadet as young as Hux ever having been lashed.  He cast an uncertain glance toward the commandant.  Hux had to be able to keep his forehead against the column to protect his eyes, but stretched out as he was now, his head was forced to the side, with half his face exposed to danger.

Brendol sneered and stalked over to the pillar, swiping two extra pairs of binders from nearby guards.  He unfastened Armitage’s thin wrist and shoved him back, glaring at his son as though it were his fault adjustments had to be made to compensate for his pathetic size.  Clasping the binders together like a short chain, he wordlessly showed the cadets how to extend their reach and stomped back to his seat.  Valke and Laran worked quickly to re-secure Hux to the column, knowing that they would be chastised afterwards for their lack of foresight. 

“Keep your head forward,” Valke reminded him as he snapped the last cuff shut and tightened it.

Laran added something that hadn’t been in the protocols: “Bite down on your back teeth or you’ll crack them.”

Then they moved aside, leaving Hux to his fate.


	10. Chapter 10

Armitage inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide as the first stroke landed with a resounding _crack_.  He’d barely recovered from the shock of the first when the second one seared him from shoulder to hip with the violence of a blaster shot.  It was nothing like his father’s floggings.  Brendol was strong, but he was old, and the strapping young officer who’d been assigned to deliver this punishment had been trained in the art of inflicting maximum pain with minimum effort.  Panic jolted through Hux with the third strike.  His breathing became faster, hissing through clenched teeth.  They weren’t going to give him time to recover his strength, or time to prepare himself mentally between lashes.  The tight, cold, durasteel cuffs around his wrists drove home the finality, and fatal error, of his decision.  He couldn’t escape this.  He couldn’t change his mind now.  It was too late.  The fourth stripe of fire raced down his back, chased by a rivulet of blood this time. 

He’d made a terrible mistake, thinking he could handle this.  A terrible, stupid, unforgivable mistake.

He turned to look at Sloane, his eyes pleading through the sting of his tears.

 _Surely she’ll stop this! She’ll see that this is a mis_ —

“Eyes front!” First Cadet Valke barked.

Armitage did as he was told, pressing his forehead once more against the cool stone.  A tiny mewl escaped as the fifth strike carved a trail of agony across his spine, and he squeezed his eyes, and his mouth, shut.  His entire back burned like the acid stings of a thousand fefze beetles.  His palms were already slick with sweat and blood.  He hadn’t even gotten a third of the way through and already screams ricocheted through his head.  _Please, stop! Please! I can’t— I fracked up! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please! Please! I won’t do it again I swear! I can’t do this! Please, stop!_  

But he didn’t _dare_ give rein to those words: not when his flesh ripped open, one lash after another; not when he started to struggle violently in the shackles binding him to the pillar, desperate for escape, until his strength gave out; not even when his legs refused to support him any longer and he hung limply from the binders, shivering and crying in pain.

The medical officer looked on, as immune to his anguish as Sloane had seemed.  He would find no respite unless his heart stopped or he passed out.  He couldn't allow that to happen either; if he did, they would just drag him out here again later to administer the remaining lashes. But, oh, how he longed to lose consciousness!

_Why? Why won’t she stop this?_

His head buzzed with the strength of his clenched teeth.  Even biting down on his molars, as Laran had suggested, Hux felt as though his teeth would shatter at any moment.

“Twenty… Twenty-one… Twenty-two…”

It wasn’t until the muffled, indifferent tone of the scourge cut through the ringing in his ears that Hux realized the high-pitched screech wasn’t just in his head.  It wasn't just the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears.  He was screaming, shrieking his agony wordlessly into the void, his lungs heaving for breath that sent shockwaves of fiery pain through his shredded back.  What remained of his pride was as tattered as his flesh.  It didn’t matter that he’d held out as long as he had.  He had failed again, and that failure blazed through him every bit as painfully as the lash tearing him open.

He couldn’t even feel the individual strikes anymore; his back was a furnace, fueled by his hate -- hate for the person whipping him, for the people in the crowd, for his bunkmates, his classmates, his father, for Kindan, for Ralas, for Sloane, but most of all, for himself.  Stars be damned.  He had chosen this, and he would see it through if it killed him.  He gripped the little star destroyer as tightly as he could, trying to refocus his thoughts and take his mind away from all the agony that crackled through his small frame.  Slicked with blood, the wooden ship slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.  Armitage felt himself falling as well, and then all was black.

 

* * *

 

Pain.

Everywhere.

Every twitch was torture.

Even the shallowest of breaths felt as though they were ripping him apart.

The metallic scent of blood and sterilizing agents filled his nostrils as he lay there, panting.  Armitage let out a pathetic sound, a mix between and groan and a whimper, and reluctantly opened his eyes.

He was in the medbay, stretched out on his stomach on a stiff cot.  His eyelids felt heavy, puffy from crying and wanting to close again to shut out the horrible reality he found himself in.  Panic shot through him when he realized someone was sitting next to him, their shape hazy and indistinct in his grogginess.  

_Father!_

But it wasn't Brendol.  It was Sloane.

"Sir! I—" He tried to sit up and had to bite down on his lip to stifle a yelp.

"It's alright, Armitage. Lie down. I only came to return this to you."

Her dark hand placed the little ship beside him.  It was damp, but not with his blood.  She had cleaned it off.

"Thank you, sir," he rasped.  His throat felt as raw as his back.

So many conflicting emotions whirled through him. Fear that he had let her down. Gratefulness that she had returned his one, most prized possession. Betrayal and anger that she hadn't put an end to this cruelty sooner. Panic that he hadn't completed the full punishment and would have to endure this again.  But mostly shame, that he had made mistake after unforgivable mistake that had led to this moment, and now everyone knew just how worthless he really was.

She must have read what he was thinking, though he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Sloane sighed, "Armitage, I never expected this kind of behavior from you. Mouthing off to superiors, disobeying orders.   _Lying_.  I don't know what to say.  I expected better from you."

His heart sank, at once burning and hardening like the hull of a dropship falling out of orbit.  She believed it.  She really thought that he would do all those things.  

She had promised to protect him from his father's heavy hand.  They had an accord.  It had been broken years ago, but she hadn't known then.  She hadn't been around to see.  That could be forgiven.  

But now she had seen, and she had sided with _him_.

She believed _Brendol_.

Armitage could hardly find the voice to respond. "I-I'm sorry, s-sir," he squeaked, tears stinging his eyes.  "I didn't— didn't m-mean to— to—"

"Shh, listen. That was brave of you.  Incredibly stupid, but brave."

He flinched as she stroked her fingers through his hair, but she didn't see it.

"Thirty-three lashes.  You made it through all but two.  I've never seen someone so deter— no, no, don't worry," she smoothed his hair back again, seeing the look of horror descend over his pallid face, "I told them to cancel any further punishment. It's done. You've suffered enough, provided you've learned your lesson."  She looked him in the eye, her expression hardening. "Have you?"

"Yes. Yes, sir."

And he had.  

He had learned more lessons in the last week than he had in possibly his whole, young life.  There was no one who could be trusted to keep their word.  No one who cared about him on this ship, or even the entire galaxy.  No one who wanted him for anything more than a plaything to satisfy their savage desires.  Pretty words and promises weren’t worth the air it took to speak them; they were just eloquent knives used to coerce something out of someone and then stab them in the back.  His father had been right all along: emotions, weakness, sentimentality, attachment -- all of these only ended in pain.  His only worth, if he had any at all, was to the Empire, to the Order.  Even if it was just as one more body, more fodder for the reclamation effort.  He was a cog in the great war machine, and the faster he accepted that role and became more machine-like himself, the better a soldier he would be.

But he would not just die some senseless death, alone and forgotten like the troopers who lay where they fell.

He clutched the star destroyer in his hand, ignoring how the edges dug into the cuts on his palm.  Of all the promises he'd been made, _this_ one would be kept.  Not by Sloane, but by himself.  He was the only one he could count on.  It _would_ be his someday.  He would show them all.

All glory to the First Order.

 _His_ First Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>   
>   
>  There are some things left unresolved here, and things I'd like to expand upon perhaps in the future, but this wasn't ever actually meant to exist past the first two chapters, so! I hope you've enjoyed (?) the ride! XD There may be a sort of continuation later.


End file.
